


Locked Up

by winchestersinthedrift (vaneharriet)



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Prison, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, god these tags haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaneharriet/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Sam are stuck in a jail cell till Dean shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Up

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to my blog at winchestersinthedrift.tumblr.com, where I'm happy to take SPN one shot prompts/requests!

There was exactly one upside to the situation and that was that they had put you and Sam in the same holding cell, because the other wing was being refurnished ‘for health and safety reasons’ (‘comforting,’ Sam had murmured under his breath). The downsides were that you were in a county jail being held under charges of armed assault and kidnapping; that the best chance of getting out was Dean, and he was four states away and waiting for a new transmission; and that you’d missed supper.

‘We missed supper?’ you’d said, incredulously, when the guard had informed you of this a half hour ago when you arrived.

‘4.30 on the nose,’ he’d drawled, and Sam’s warning glare had stopped you from remarking that this was a ludicrously early hour for supper. It became clear why, though, when 5 pm rolled round and the entire staff of the building decamped and went home, except for a lone officer in an office at the end of the hall.

So now you were hungry and biting your nails, sitting beside Sam on the single cot with your backs against the wall. Your legs were so short that your feet stuck straight off the edge of the bed.

‘So,’ you said, ‘we just hope that Dean gets here before the processing officers from state?’

‘Don’t bite your nails,’ Sam said absently. ‘That’s really all we can do, yeah, unless Cas decides to show up and break us outta here.’

You had stopped biting and were now picking dissatisfiedly at the front of your sweater.

‘My first time behind bars,’ you said lightly, trying to show him you weren’t upset, ‘and I don’t even get the costume.’ You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. ‘When you guys went undercover that time, what’d you wear?’

Sam shot you a quizzical look.

‘Well, uh, what all the other inmates did. Orange sort of … scrubs. Why?’

You looked pointedly at the other corner of the room when you answered.

‘Oh I just wish I’d been with you that time to see. I bet they were fucking hot.’

You felt him shift beside you and guessed that he was grinning. You and Sam had had a thing for a month or so now, friends with benefits you supposed, though you didn’t think what you had with Sam could really be measured by any conventional terms. You were casual hunting partners first – you’d run some jobs with the boys the previous year, off and on, and sometimes during the off times you’d talk on the phone in the evenings and watch Jeopardy together long distance, fighting over the trivia; but a month ago there’d been a night on a job when you’d stayed up in the motel room till 5 am, whispering on the far side of the room to try and not wake Dean, talking first about the historical migration of Dracula folklore across the Balkans, slipping from there to vampire movies and your favourite books. At 3 am you’d smoked up, giggling and leaning out the window to exhale, and then laid on the floor side by side wrapped in your thoughts until you were almost asleep and he’d rolled over suddenly without warning and kissed you. The next night you’d got a hotel room of your own (‘Er, maybe with a few rooms between it and yours, Dean,’ you’d said, when he was checking you in, and he’d made a face between horror and leering approval.) And that had been that.

You put out a hand towards Sam now and let your fingers drag down over his shoulder, picturing the expanse of his back and the way his biceps had knotted under your hands the last time you’d had his shirt off.

‘Sam,’ you said, and squeaked a little from the sudden dryness of your mouth. He was already looking sideways at you and you twisted to grab his shirt with both hands, swung a leg over so you were straddling the cot, and pulled him over on top of you. You were wearing sweatpants – the troopers hadn’t been inclined to let you get dressed when they’d burst into the motel room that morning – and when Sam sank down between your legs you felt all of him, his thighs straining your hips further apart and the skin above the waistband of his jeans, the hairy line from his navel rubbing against you and his dick hardening against his zipper. You wriggled your hips a little beneath him and tipped your head up so that your chin was resting on his chest. He had his fingers laced together over the top of your head and was industriously kissing the side of your neck. It took you a minute to catch your breath enough even to talk; being like this with him was still so recent that you found yourself still knocked off your feet and breathless at the feel of it.

‘I have to say,’ you murmured, once you’d got your voice back, ‘that my first time in prison is going better than expected.’

‘Jail,’ said Sam, into your neck.

‘Wha?’ you said, dazedly, because he had moved down to your collarbone and was sucking along it.

‘Jail,’ he said, muffled against your skin. ‘Until you’re sentenced, it’s just jail. Not prison till after you’re convicted.’

‘Smartass!’ you said, and burrowed your head under the front of his tshirt. You wondered vaguely if it was possible to be intoxicated on pheromones; certainly with your face up between his pecs you felt drunk, the scent of him like a streak of white fire that flashed through your limbs and left them burnt-out, hollow and weakened. He dragged his shirt up over his head and sat up, laughing at your incensed face.

‘Have to keep you on your toes some of the time,’ he said, and dragged you up into his lap. ‘Come here.’

You wanted him back between your thighs but you also liked it when he took charge; besides, it wasn’t hard to melt into Sam’s arms with his hands scooping into the back of your sweats to cup your ass, pulling you right up tight against his hips. You were about to wriggle out of your own top when you remembered where you were.

‘Baby I know the guard is, er, probably sleeping by the looks of him, but – aren’t there cameras in here? Should we, uh, -‘

‘Oh, there were,’ Sam said blandly, perfectly expressionless except for a dimple tugging up from the side of his mouth, ‘yes. I disabled them while the sheriff was escorting you to the bathroom.’

Your mouth fell open and you goggled at him.

‘Sam did you – you were – did you plan this?’

He grinned at you and dug his fingers a little tighter under your ass.

‘No, well, uh, it’s always a good idea to go ghost if you can. But I did think it would also be useful if –‘

He broke off, eyes dropping to your lips.

‘Y/N,’ he said, levelly, almost conversationally, ‘put your hands on the back of your head.’

You had been kissing his ear but now you startled back and looked at him. He was smiling, a crooked dimpled grin, but he was serious. You felt a long shiver of anticipation crawl down your spine. You leaned back into his hands and laced your fingers at the back of your head and swallowed, hard. The past few months with Sam had been more fun than all the rest of your sexual history put together, but you still got a little shy around anything north of pure vanilla.

‘Sam,’ you said, breath stuttering a little, ‘I think –‘

‘ _Deputy_ Sam,’ he corrected, but with the dimpling around his mouth that made him still Sam, still gentle and protective not just in spite of this but somehow in it.

‘Deputy Sam,’ you breathed, ‘I think – when you frisked me earlier –‘ Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he wiggled them appreciatively – ‘I think you missed something. Down, uh, the front of my pants.’

You were managing to keep a completely straight face, mostly from the effort of keeping your hands behind your head and not attacking Sam full-on, but your breathing was starting to catch unevenly. Sam slipped his hands forward to encircle your hips and dipped a long thumb in the slick between your thighs. Then he raised the thumb to his lips and licked it. Your lips fell open a little and a moan escaped.

‘ _Shit_ , Sam –‘

‘Now miss,’ he said, gravely, ‘you heard what I said about keeping the noise down. We don’t want the fire station next door reporting that they hear anything, do we?’

‘No Sam,’ you said, fervently. ‘Fuck, Sam – _Deputy_ Sam – can I take off your pants?’

Instead of answering at once he took your face in his hands and kissed you – not roughly as you’d expected but softly, almost chastely. Your elbows to either side of your head jerked forward a little and he smiled against your mouth and reached down to unbutton his jeans. He pulled the zipper a little down and reached inside his waistband and tugged his cock up a bit so you could see it, not quite hard but full and stiffening against his belly.

‘ _Uuunf_ ’ he said, half a groan, and then like the jolt of stepping off an unexpected ledge you were both suddenly past the point of talking, mouths and tongues tangled together. Your hands raked the stubble up along his jaw and you lurched up onto your knees to try and kick your way out of your sweatpants. Sam was scrambling too, broke off for a moment to shuck off his jeans and then he had caught you up and carried you almost in a single motion up against the barred front of the cell. He held you up at his height, feet dangling next to the bars and his hands under your ass, and you reached for his cock but he caught you with a kiss and pushed you back against the bars.

‘Hold on,’ he gasped, and as you grasped at the crossbar behind your head with both hands, ‘keep ‘em there.’ He dropped, hard, to his knees, his hands still under your ass and pushing you up a little further up against the bars and he sank into your pussy, his scruff brushing rough against the thin skin of your upper thighs as he nuzzled his way between your outer lips. He had gone down on you before but not while also holding you up against a cell door, his posture evocative of some lust-ridden religious supplicant, the muscles at the joint of his shoulder rolling and bunching. It was the thing you found hottest about Sam: that he fucked with his whole body, wherever his particular attention might happen to be focused. He was running the whole flat of his tongue up and down the length of your pussy, not the deliberate precision of the twice before that he’d eaten you out but a thigh-shuddering sort of devouring. He was down on one knee with the other foot planted hard in front of him, his cock fully erect and quivering between his legs with the force of his movement. You jerked your hips instinctively but with your legs dangling free above the floor you had no leverage and managed only a soft buck against his face. It was strange and suffocatingly erotic, the sensations of his grip both supporting and unfolding you and the feel of your weight running down his forearms.

‘Sam,’ you whimpered, writhing against his hands, ‘Sam – Sam, Sam _please_ fuck me please, god, ohfuck oh _godsam_ –‘

‘ _Jesus_ ,’ he said, rough and short, and when he relaxed his arms you fell into his lap and grabbed at his face, crazy to touch him. While you were still kissing him wet and hot and openmouthed he wrapped your thighs around his waist and sank you down over his cock and you groaned loud and broken into his mouth. He unwrapped his long legs to stretch them out in front of him and braced one arm against the floor behind his ass, using its leverage to thrust up into you — slowly at first, and pausing just long enough at each bottoming-out to make you tighten your grip in his hair and rut against him, desperate for it.

He felt it too because two minutes or maybe three and he was jackhammering up from his hips, the long muscles of his thighs and ass flexing and tightening beneath you. You were leaning back yourself, one hand back behind you and the other around his neck. You could feel yourself being brought to the edge almost as much by the look of him, the power of his frame and the rippling line of his shoulder straining back against the floor, as you were by his cock stuttering up thick and bruisingly hard into your cunt.

And then he started talking distractedly, not at you so much as to himself. You loved it when Sam got to this stage, loved it when his control started to go, when this man so usually measured and self-possessed began to come apart around you.

‘I – shit, jesus Y/N – I’m, ohmygod, Y/N, _Y/N_ ,’ drawn-out and low, pleading, and you arched your back and ground down harder around him, felt him pushing into places inside you that you hadn’t known were there to be opened, and you grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face against your breasts and squeezed around him and ‘FUCKFUCKFUCK Y/N _FUUUCK_.’

He thrust up hard and shook, breaking, still shuddering and murmuring all the way down while his hips still jerked up into you. Then he sank back onto the floor, pulling you with him and up his chest so that he could suck gently on one of your nipples. You buried your face in his hair and breathed him in, his mouth wet and urgent on your breast. He pulled his head back a little and smiled at you, ragged and flushed.

‘How’re you doin’ baby?’ His hand was stroking lightly up and down your back. ‘You wanna come ride my face?’

Your expression must have told him enough because he grabbed your thighs and pulled you up his chest and _jesus_. You put out your hands, blindly, feeling for something to balance against, but Sam grabbed them and laced his fingers through yours and pushed up against your palms.

‘Use me,’ he gasped, ‘I want to feel it,’ and shit if you didn’t almost come right then; but he pulled you back onto his face and thrust his tongue up into your cunt and sucked. You stopped noticing the sounds you were making but you vaguely knew you were making them, riding hard and desperate and seeking the hard line of his jaw and the softer grinding friction of his nose against your clit. Normally you would have been shy, even embarrassed at the idea, but a soft warm blinding vibration was spreading from your core to every nerve in your body and then you felt the sharper pleasure of your clit rubbed to the breaking point and you screamed, high and ripped from your chest, and your whole body shook against Sam’s face and hands and tongue.

You had barely stopped when you heard a door open and Sam sat up in a rush beneath you. A moment of open-mouthed, half-hysterical panic and then the sound of heavy boots on the cement floor.

‘Sammy, I swear to God, if you’ve been fucking like rabbits while I’ve been hauling tail ‘cross state to rescue your sorry asses…’


End file.
